


Hurricanes and Butterflies

by dawnstruck



Series: Undisclosed Desires [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Boyfriend!Aomine, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Some Fluff, Some angst, University, mentions of eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kise-kun is not a basketball,” Satsuki tells him when he confides in her.</p><p>Or, the one where things are never really easy, but that's still alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricanes and Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "Madness" and won't make much sense if you haven't read that one first. I figured, while I was already in this 'verse I might keep dicking around here.  
> This one is from Aomine's point of view and a bit fluffier. Lots of kisses.  
> I would like to apologize for the 'evil female' trope, but I needed a scapegoat. :/
> 
> Also, the first two paragraphs (the ones in bracket) are meant to be set during the Teiko era, respectively before Aomine offers Kise his proposal and after Kise breaks things off. The rest ist set after the events of "Madness".

“ _Change everything you are_

_And everything you were_

_Your number has been called_

_Fights, battles have begun_

_Revenge will surely come_

_Your hard times are ahead”_

Muse ~ Hurricanes and Butterflies

 

[“Kise-kun is not a basketball,” Satsuki tells him when he confides in her, hands braced on her hips, “You can't just toss him around, without any consideration for his feelings.”

“I know, I know,” Aomine waves her off, “I'll treat him like a delicate flower.”

“No,” she says and sighs, “Treat him like a person who's afraid to get hurt again.”]

 

[Weeks and weeks later, when Aomine sits with his head in his hands and a bottomless feeling in his gut because Kise won't even look at him anymore, he thinks he should have listened more carefully.

“He'll come around,” Satsuki promises, gently rubbing his back. In any other case, he'd say that she's speaking out of female intuition or her scarily accurate gift of reading people. But right now he is sure that her words are only an empty attempt of consolation.

“I really mucked this one up, didn't I?” he sighs, and if his eyes are burning a little then Satsuki at least doesn't rub it in.]

 

“Such a nice place,” Satsuki marvels, kicking her legs out in front of her where she sits on the sofa, a cup of tea cradled in her hands.

She goes to the same uni as Aomine, of course she does, as if he still needed a babysitter. But she's in business management, specializing on stock markets, and currently doing an internship in a company.

They rarely have time to meet up. This is the first time she's seen the new apartment. This is also the first time she's seen Aomine and Kise as an official couple.

“My old one was a little bit small for two people,” Ryouta explains, perching on the armchair across from her, “And considering how expensive the dorm rooms are, moving in together was the cheaper alternative.”

“And I get to see you whenever I want to,” Aomine adds, sitting down on the armrest and pressing a kiss to his cheek, because this is not about saving money.

Ryouta ducks his head a little, but doesn't object. Satsuki catches Aomine's gaze and offers an approving smile.

 

They cook together because surviving on take-out and microwave meals is not exactly anyone's idea of independent adult life.

Well, that is, Aomine cooks, because Ryouta seems to fuck up when he merely tries to boil water, but they fool around in the kitchen and equally share the chores. Usually that means that Kise is put to chopping the vegetables, which he always does with dutiful precision.

“Hey!” he protests when Aomine steals a piece of carrot and props it between his teeth, grinning around it.

Then he just bends down and kisses Ryouta like this, using his tongue to push the carrot into Ryouta's open mouth. Ryouta laughs and blushes and chews slowly, and Aomine wishes he could feed him like this all the time, as if he were a baby bird, not yet ready to take flight on his own.

 

 

Aomine has a cramp, but instead of pulling a face and cursing angrily he takes a deep controlled breath and stretches against the pain.

Next to him, Murakami lets out a low whistle of respect.

“Not bad, man,” he praises, “When did you get so flexible?”

“My boyfriend showed me some yoga poses,” Aomine replies, already knowing what will follow next.

“Ooh, his boyfriend!” Hinase hoots, throwing an arm around Murakami, while his words still echo throughout the gym and draw the attention of the rest of the team.

“Is it the boyfriend whose name you never mentioned?” Hinase teases good-naturedly, “The boyfriend no one's ever seen? The boyfriend who does yoga and is really handsome and so sexually demanding that you always fall asleep in class?”

Well, Aomine would sleep through most lectures anyway, but having had Ryouta bending him over the night before always gave him a good excuse.

“What's the commotion about, gentlemen?” their manager Mina demands once she's sauntered over, “You should get back to practise.”

“Aomine is making up stories about his imaginary boyfriend again,” Hinase tells her with a shit-eating grin.

When Aomine doesn't even bother saying anything in his defence, Mina considers him for moment.

“You mentioned your boyfriend played as well, right?” she wants to know and he gives a small nod.

“Here's the deal, then,” she proposes, “If he actually exists, you bring him over for a friendly match. Two-on-two against Hinase and Murakami. If you win, the two'll take over your club duties for the rest of the semester.”

“What?!” Murakami protests at once, “I have nothing to do with this!”

But Mina just ignores him.

“If you lose,” she continues, but Aomine just cuts her off, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Trust me,” he says through sharp teeth, “We won't.”

 

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ryouta asks for the tenth time and Aomine nudges his shoulder against him in encouragement.  
“Sure is,” he chuckles, “We haven't played side by side in ages. It'll be fun.”

“And _I_ haven't played at all in almost a year,” Ryouta hedges, but then they are already at the gym and there's no turning back, especially since Nobunaga has already caught sight of them.

“Aomine and Mr. Perfect have arrived!” he announces gleefully and Aomine can feel Ryouta tense next to him.

The team gathers around curiously, eyeing Ryouta and the way Aomine has grabbed his hand.

“Hey, hey,” Murakami boggles, “Isn't that that model guy? My sister is all over him.”

“It doesn't count if you had to hire him for the day, man,” Hinase laughs and Aomine actually feels himself blush.

“I didn't hire him,” he grumbles, “I've known him for years.”

It takes him a moment to notice that Ryouta seems a little confused.

“I kept talking about my boyfriend but never mentioned your name because I thought they wouldn't believe that anyway,” he explains, rubbing the back of his head, But eventually they started thinking that I'd just made you up.”

“Well, you did make him sound like something out of a dream,” Mina points out, “But if he's only half as good at handling balls as you always claimed, then I think we should get going. Chop chop, boys, I want to see a nice match.”

 

They win. Of course the win.

Aomine can easily take on Murakami and Hinase any day, but with Ryouta by his side it's child's play. Because it's true that Ryouta hasn't played in a while, but it's also true that his sort of gift does not simply disappear.

They fall into a familiar rhythm that's parts still left over from their Teiko days, parts thanks to the recent changes in their relationship. They know and can read each other. In comparison to that, Murakami and Hinase never stand a change.

The rest of the team is watching, first cheering everyone on equally, but then just staring in awe. They've seen Aomine play often enough to not be stunned anymore, but putting Ryouta next to him accentuates their contrasts and similarities.

Afterwards, the other two don't even complain about the loss and their new club duties, gracefully accepting defeat in the face of such opponents.

“Get him to join the team,” Mina hisses at Aomine while Ryouta starts signing autographs for Murakami's sister, Mori's girlfriend, as well as Ide's mother, aunts, cousins and Ide himself.

“We'll see,” Aomine muses because winning a couple of games isn't as important as seeing Ryouta sleep without a frown on his face.

So he walks over to where Ryouta is chatting with the others and apparently giving away embarrassing details about Aomine's puberty, and puts an arm around his waist.

“You haven't collected your prize for winning yet” he says smoothly, but Ryouta just lifts an eyebrow, “I thought the prize was for you to skip out on club chores?”

“That was _my_ prize,” Aomine corrects, “This is yours.”

And he pulls him in closer and kisses him, quite dirtily, the way it wouldn't be done in public. He can hear his teammates whooping in the background, but doesn't really care about that, because he's got his tongue in Ryouta's mouth and Ryouta's hands clenched in his shirt, dragging him in.

Aomine tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against Ryouta's, and transforming the heavy make-out into a series of little pecks.

When he finally pulls back, there's faint blush dusting Ryouta's cheeks.

“That was as much your prize as it was mine,” he mumbles with a pout, but it's obvious enough that it's no real complaint.

“Then how about you get to choose one all for yourself once we get home?” Aomine whispers in a conspiratorial tone.

“Anything I want?” Ryouta asks slyly.

“Anything you want,” Aomine confirms.  
“Well,” Ryouta muses, idly flicking off a speck of dust from Aomine's shoulder, “The living room needs cleaning.”

“Hm,” Aomine hums, though it's not quite the direction he was going for, “I can do that.”

Ryouta's gaze flicks up to him, coy and all too knowing, before he smirks a little, “But can you do it naked?”

 

Aomine didn't quite believe that Ryouta was being serious, but a couple of hours later find him in the living room, naked as the day he was born and dragging a vacuum cleaner around.

Granted, the annoying noise of the hoovering does not exactly set the most arousing mood, but Ryouta does not seem to care. Instead, he's sprawled out on the couch, absent-mindedly plopping grapes into his mouth as if he were some emperor from a cheap period drama, while his gaze is steadily following Aomine's movement.

So Aomine grins a little to himself as he bends down low to reach under the coffee table. The yoga definitely does pay off, especially when Ryouta starts biting his lips like that.

“There's some cobwebs in the corner,” Ryouta tells him, once he's done hoovering, nodding his head in the direction of the shelves. Aomine just grabs a cloth and makes a show of walking to the other side of the room.

There are indeed some cobwebs and he has to reach high to get the ones below the ceiling, but he's tall and his abs contract as he wipes them away, careful so they won't stick to his hands.

“You'll have to do the table again,” Ryouta adds, and of course he'll have to.

He did the coffee table first thing first, but it's got a black glass surface and why did they even buy that shitty thing, it attracts dirt like nothing else, and the hoovering only threw up some more dust to settle on the table top once more. But in the shop it had looked so cool and Ryouta had insisted that it would go nicely with their new couch.

The couch is made of black leather and they got a cheap deal for such a fancy thing, but your skin sticks to it when you're trying to fuck on it, or when you're just fucking sitting there. Why did you only notice these things when it was already too late?

But back to table. Aomine kneels down, bare knees on the wooden floor, and sprays some glass cleaner on the surface before using a new cloth to wipe it down again.

He locks his gaze with Ryouta, throwing his whole body into the circular motions of his hand, shoulders straining and biceps pumping. Ryouta is in the middle of biting into a grape, but because he's staring openly the juice starts to dribble down his chin, and Aomine's gaze drops to his lips.

“What me to clean that up as well?” he asks, his voice going husky all of a sudden, and when had the situation actually become sexual?

“Yes please,” Ryouta says a little breathlessly, so Aomine tosses the cloth away and walks over to him.

He bends down, not properly kissing Ryouta, but just licking at his lips, savouring the sweet flavour of grapes on his tongue. Then he drags Ryouta to his feet and throws him over his shoulder.  
“What are you doing?!” Ryouta screeches, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, “Put me down!”

“I wanna fuck,” Aomine tells him bluntly, turning towards their bedroom, “But I'm not doing it on that couch. Last time I almost lost my balls.”

At that, Ryouta laughs so hard that he doesn't even have enough breath left to complain.

 

 

Ryouta gave him a universal backstage pass, so it's no trouble getting in.

The first part of the show is already over, so Ryouta should be back in his changing room. Aomine checks the signs on the doors along the hallway until he finds the right number.

He pushes it open and sticks his head in, not bothering to knock. Instead he just lifts the paper-bag in his hand, “I brought doughnuts.”

“Oh good,” Ryouta's voice is muffled by the damp towel with which he is rubbing his face, “I'm starving.”

He's been performing his songs as an opening act before other musicians' gigs, which keeps the money coming and the fans happy, but his agent has been urging him to start thinking on a bigger scale. Ryouta, however, has put his foot down, keeping his career on the back-burner for now. The music industry isn't his favourite playground anyway, as he claims.

Ryouta emerges from behind the towel, sweaty and obviously exhausted after an hour on the stage. His hair stands up in every which way and his eyeliner is completely smudged. Aomine grins a little, happy that he gets to see him like this.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets and it earns him an annoyed look.

“Shut it, Ahomine,” Kise huffs before turning towards the vanity and rubbing at his eyes with some make-up removal wipes.

“Oh, do you want me to leave?” Aomine asks, indicating towards the door, “Because I can leave, y'know.”

“Fine by me,” Ryouta says breezily, “Just leave the food here.”

“That's how it is, yeah?” Aomine does his best to act offened, “Well, you can think again, because me and these tasty doughnuts here are a double deal. So take it or leave it, okay?”

“You are such a drama queen,” Ryouta sighs, “Alright, bring them here. I'll even give you a kiss for your troubles.”

“How gracious of you,” Aomine rolls his eyes, but follows the command and comes to stand behind Ryouta. He smells of fresh sweat and entirely too much hairspray, but Aomine doesn't really mind.

“Kiss first or doughnut?” he asks, dangling the bag in front of Ryouta's face.

“Hm, let's see,” Ryouta takes the bag and opens it, pulling out a pink glazed doughnut and eyeing it thoughtfully.

“Kiss first,” he decides finally, swivelling around in his chair and curling the fingers of his free hand in Aomine's collar to pull him down. Aomine is only too happy to comply. The kiss is short and sweet, almost chaste.

“Then doughnut,” Ryouta says and takes a small bite, swallowing it, before offering his lips once more, “Then kiss again.”

This one is longer and even sweeter, with sugar still lingering on Ryouta's playful tongue.

Suddenly, though, there is a knock on the door and they pull apart reluctantly.

“Enter,” Ryouta calls, taking another bite out of the doughnut and watching as one of the staff members sticks his head in.

“Kise-san?” she asks politely, “Your mother is here to see you.”

There's a beat, and then the atmosphere in the room has changed completely.

“Of course,” Ryouta smiles brightly, quickly grabbing a brush and trying to smooth his hair down, “Please send her in.”

“Ryouta,” Aomine tries to say, not liking this sudden turn of events, but then the door closes and someone has already stepped in.

With a start Aomine realizes that he has never actually met Ryouta's mother, not even during their days back at Teiko. Which is weird, because while Aomine's parents couldn't always make it for his matches, they at least tried. And despite all the times he'd been over to the Kise family home, he'd never even seen another relative.

The family resemblance is obvious enough. Kise-san is quite a bit shorter than her son, but she has the same air of elegance to her, the same blonde hair and fine cheekbones. There's a tightness around her mouth, however, that doesn't sit well with Aomine. It reminds him of strict teachers and disappointed teammates.

“Kaa-san,” Ryouta greets politely, nervously putting the hair brush aside.

“Ryouta,” she replies just as curtly and her gaze drops down to the doughnut still in his hand. She doesn't say anything, but her disapproval is obvious enough. Then she looks up and fixes that same scrutiny on Aomine.

“If you could leave,” she says coolly, “I'd like to have a private conversation with my son.”

Aomine opens his mouth to object angrily because he'll only leave if Ryouta tells him to, but then Ryouta is already speaking up instead.

“Kaa-san, this is Aomine-kun,” he introduces, carefully putting the doughnut back into the bag and setting it aside, “We used to go to school together.”

Admittedly, Aomine wouldn't have expected to be introduced as the boyfriend right away, but a little more sincerity would have been welcome. Also, while he's suspected that Ryouta and his family weren't exactly on the best of terms, wouldn't they at least know the names of his former teammates?

“A pleasure,” Kise-san says with the same kind of pleased expression one would use when biting into a lemon, and then she lifts her shoulders a little as if trying to appear taller. It's kind of funny. Aomine has a suspicion that she wouldn't be doing this if he weren't here. Because she's short, but right now Ryouta is sitting down and looking small in comparison.

With an inward grin, Aomine pulls himself up to his full height, placing an arm over the backrest of Ryouta's chair.

“Ryouta, I've been trying to call,” Kise-san explains, clutching her handbag a little more tightly, “But for some reason my calls wouldn't go through. So I had to go through all the trouble of coming here tonight.”

It takes Aomine a moment to comprehend all that and when he does, he is left a little floored. Because it sounds like Ryouta actually blocked his mother on the phone, and who the hell does that, but apparently she doesn't even know where her son lives and instead has to attend on of his public performances instead.

Aomine waits for Ryouta to say anything in response, but the blonde just sits there with a smile on his face and his fingers clenched around his knees. A little confused, Aomine's gaze is drawn back to Kise-san.

“The car broke down,” she says as if that would explain everything, which it absolutely doesn't, because what the hell? It's not like Ryouta is a mechanic or has a driver's licence? What would he care about the car? And why was the damn thing so important that his mother actually came here to tell him about it?

But Ryouta just gives a tight nod.

“I'll transfer some money to your bank account,” he tells her, already pulling out his smartphone as if he wants to do it right on the spot. And what the fuck? Why does a twenty-year-old have to pay for his mother's car? Because Aomine had known that Ryouta's father had walked out on them a long time ago, but that didn't explain, that didn't justify-

“Good,” Kise-san says as if anything else had been out of the question, and then Aomine just bursts.

“Fuck, Ryouta, don't let her push you around!” he barks angrily and Ryouta flinches a little.

“It's alright, Aomine-kun,” he says calmly, not looking up from his phone, “I have enough money saved up.”

Money that was meant for him to take a bit of a breather next semester and not have to constantly work his ass off. Money with which they wanted to go on vacation in Kobe. Money that Ryouta had earned for himself and not to repair his mother's car.

“Would that be all?” Ryouta inquires as if he were a waiter at a fucking restaurant.

“It's your stepbrother's birthday next week,” Kise-san points out and Ryouta gives another of those too bright smiles, “I'll send him a present.”

“Good,” she only says again before turning on her heel, “Enjoy your food.”

Then she is gone and it's the calm after the storm. Like a hurricane destroyed your entire home and you're left to survey the damage.

Ryouta has picked up the brush again and is running it through his hair in short, aborted movements, all the while making small sounds at the back of his throat as if something were stuck there.

“Ryouta,” Aomine begins cautiously, unsure how to proceed from here, but then Ryouta is already pushing up the chair and standing up.

“If you'd excuse me for a moment, I'll just go wash up,” he says and disappears in the adjacent bathroom with hurried steps, locking the door behind him.

Aomine sighs heavily and lets himself fall onto the chair instead, pulling a chocolate doughnut out of the bag and biting off a huge chunk.

He sits like that for a few moments, chewing idly, hearing the water run in the bathroom. But then there is another sound that makes him sit up straighter.

With a bad feeling in his gut, he gets up again, moving closer towards the door. There, again.

“Ryouta,” he calls out, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood, “Ryouta, open up.”

When he finally does, the sound of retching and of the toilet flushing has stopped, but the tab water is still running.

Ryouta is standing in the doorway, a complete mess. There are angry red blotches on his face and hot tears running down his cheeks. He is shaking all over, the stink of vomit sill pungent in the air.

“Fuck, Ryouta,” Aomine breathes out and then Ryouta just breaks down again.

“I'm sorry,” he sobs, falling against Aomine who quickly closes strong arms around him, “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Aomine tells him, whispering against his damp hair, not caring whether it happened all by itself or whether Ryouta had to shove his fingers down his throat.

“C'mon,” Aomine nudges him, steering them away from the bathroom and the stench and shame still caught in it, “Let's go home.”

 

It's a Sunday, and for once they are just lazing around a bit, not really bothering to get out of bed. Aomine's got his eyes closed, just listening to the rustling of paper whenever Ryouta turns a page in his manga where he is lying on his stomach next to him.

“I need new shoes,” Aomine announces contemplatively, “Wanna go shopping on Tuesday?”

There's a pause long enough that it makes him crack an eye open.

“Oh, um, I can't,” Ryouta replies eventually, scratching his cheek and looking away, “I have an appointment.”

Aomine frowns, “With your agent? I thought that was on Monday.”

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, it is, but,” Ryouta's eyes flutter, but then he takes a deep breath, “On Tuesday I'm meeting with my therapist.”

Aomine blinks, “You have a therapist?”

“It's my first session!” Ryouta hurries to say, keeping his gaze down and fiddling with the paperback in his hands, “I didn't plan to keep it from you. It's just... You've been a great help and I'm feeling better, but I'm not _good_ yet. So Satsuki-chan said that maybe I should see a professional and-”

He working himself up into a frenzy, as if Aomine would be insulted by the notion that his love is not some magic potion that makes all his problems go away. Or as if Aomine would not want to date someone who is fucked up enough in the head to need a therapist in the first place.

“Hey hey,” Aomine soothes, rolling over to put a hand to Ryouta's shoulder, “That's alright. And if you ever need me to come along, just say so, yeah? Wanna go shopping some other time?”

Ryouta's look is so wide-eyed that for a moment Aomine fears he said the wrong thing after all.

“I'm free on Thursday,” he says finally, his voice a little thin and unsteady.

“Thursday it is then,” Aomine grins, “I'll even treat you to some ice cream.”

Ryouta nods his head, biting his lower lip as if to tone down his smile. Aomine's eyes follow the movement.  
“On second thought,” he corrects, “How about we put out tongues to use before then?”

“Hm, depends. What exactly were you thinking of?” Ryouta wants to know, quick to jump on the change of mood and reaching out to teasingly draw a finger along Aomine's collarbone.

“Well,” Aomine drawls out, tilting his head back a little to offer better access, “We could either just lie here and have a proper snog...”

“Or...?” Ryouta prompts.

“Or I could eat you out until you are begging me to screw you into the mattress,” Aomine finishes and Ryouta makes a show of thinking about it.

“I can't really decide without having had a sample of either, can I?” he muses aloud.

“I guess you're right,” Aomine agrees and then just climbs on top of him, bracing himself on both forearms, “I'll let you have a taste first.”

“Now that's what I call good costumer service,” Ryouta praises and pulls him down into a kiss.

 

 

[“I'm proud of you,” Satsuki tells him all of a sudden, when Ryouta has gone to set the table and Aomine is still watching over the meat in the pan.

“What? Why?” he asks because frying chicken isn't exactly rocket science.

“Because you mess up a lot, but you always manage to make up for it later on,” Satsuki smiles and Aomine cannot help but frown.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he wants to know, “I've never let the chicken burn.”

Satsuki gives him a weird look, “What chicken?”

Aomine stares at her, “This conversation is about food, right?”

Her mouth falls open.

“Dai-chan, you are such an idiot!” she screeches and hits him over the head while he tries to fend her off with the spatula.

“Don't damage my boyfriend!” Ryouta calls from the living room, “I still have use for him.”

“I'm not a commodity, you know!”Aomine yells back, but Ryouta's answering laugh is enough to make him grin in return.

“And that's why you're an idiot,” Satsuki tells him, again with that mysterious smile on her lips.

“Just shut up, you weirdo,” Aomine scoffs and pushes her head out of the way.

He's not gonna let this chicken burn because of anyone's interference.]

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm sorry for using Kise's mother like this. Since this is from Aomine's POV, I left a lot of stuff unsaid, and I hope I didn't overdo it with the wangst.  
> Hope you enjoyed anyway. :)


End file.
